


As Above As Below

by Adi_mou



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-10-20
Updated: 2012-11-07
Packaged: 2017-11-16 16:17:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/541424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Adi_mou/pseuds/Adi_mou
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Molly Hooper decided to help Sherlock Holmes...she didn't think she actually signed up for babysitting. Especially when that three-year old used to be the World's only Consulting Detective. Sherlock really shouldn't poke around Mycroft's experiments.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Three Months Ago

Molly Hooper sat at her small kitchen table, eyes focused on the swirls on the wood. She noticed that there were several places the wood had chipped and the polish had dulled. She should really get a new table. She leaned back in her chair and there was a slight creak. Molly sighed, she had been so busy with her work that she barely had time to renovate her flat, and now she was fairly certain half of her furniture was in need of replacement.

Not that her working hours at Bart's were inhumanely long, Molly mused. She could easily have taken time off or leave early, letting her assistants to tidy up after her. But Molly was fastidious by nature; she loathed leaving the autopsy half done, even if the only work left was sewing up the cadaver. But, Molly mused, the main reason she was barely having time to anything relatively social (Not that she was social to begin with, but she missed going out with her best friends once in a while) was because of a certain ( Well, technically, the World's only but let's not stroke his already over large ego) consulting detective. The very same consulting detective, who was supposed to be dead, disgraced and the very same one who made her heart skip a couple of beats every time he entered her lab.

The very same consulting detective who was now hollering (yes hollering) her name from her bedroom, sounding like the world was ending.

Molly sighed again and slipped off her chair. "Sherlock, what is it this time?" She said tiredly. He had only been kipping at her place for two days and already she was thinking that Doctor Watson deserved a medal.

Or a sainthood. Or both.

"Get me new clothes. I can't wear these. They are atrocious and Mycroft is finding a sick sort of pleasure at the thought of me wearing these. I cannot give that fat git the satisfaction."

"Sherlock for the last ti-EEK!" Molly having finally reached her bedroom doorway, more or less fell on

the floor in shock, having been treated to the wonderful (oh and was it wonderful) sight of Sherlock Holmes standing at the foot of her bed, hair damp from his shower and wearing nothing but her little blue towel, wound along his thin waist.

Sherlock seemed absolutely untroubled by her reaction, or by his state of undress. "Look at this!" He continued, brandishing a grey colored graffiti t-shirt in her direction, "This t-shirt, why does it say 'Randomosity'? That isn't even a word!"

"It's an urban saying Sherlock." Molly said, picking herself up from the floor, "It's supposed to be hip."

"I don't want hip! Just because I'm supposed to be dead and disgraced doesn't mean I have to forego dignity in the name of disguise!"

Molly attempted to look serious, even though she was fighting the urge to giggle (Sherlock looked adorable sometimes, even when he was frustrated) "Sherlock, you said that the art of disguise is hiding in plain sight. And if you walk around in Westwood or Spencer Hart, people are bound to look twice at you. These are your best chance on walking around unnoticed, without the need for elaborate disguises."

"Mycroft told you to say that, didn't he?"

Molly flushed scarlet, embarrassed at being caught. She refused to back down; however, "The car will be here in half an hour. Please, Sherlock, get dressed."

She made to walk out (she wanted to get out of that room as quickly, she couldn't trust herself to stay in the same room with a half-naked Sherlock Holmes without any guarantees that she wouldn't jump him.) when Sherlock called her back, "Molly…I…Could you make tea? John used to make tea before we left on a case."

Molly smiled, her heart going out to the detective. Or what was left of the heart she had already given to him since the day he walked into the morgue for the first time, "Of course Sherlock."

"And Earl Gray. Not that disgusting packaged tea."

Molly decided that if she killed him; people would never find the body.

Now

Molly had been immersed in a Glee marathon when there was an insistent knock on her door. Scowling because she had been looking forward to an evening with absolutely no interruptions, she reached her door, fully expecting her I-am-to-lazy-to-go-to-the-shops-and-would-like-to-live-off-of-your-tea-and-sugar neighbor. She didn't bother opening the door, just shouting "Tea or sugar?" through the closed doorway.

"Neither, Ms. Hooper, though tea would be lovely. Please open the door; it is of the highest importance."

The cold clipped voice; even though she had only heard if a few times, could only belong to Mycroft Holmes. Heart thudding, as a visit from Mycroft would mean news about Sherlock, she wrenched open the door with much force.

Something small with a dark curly mop of hair bounded into her, nearly knocking her off her feet.

"I…um…Hello." She said, awkwardly patting said mop of hair, once she regained her footing. The boy looked up from where he was attached to her legs, his tiny hands clutching at her pajama bottoms. Her heart nearly stopped when she realized he had a pair of very familiar and very unusual eyes. Wait, so that could only mean…

"No Ms. Hooper. I assure you he is not any spawn of my brother. He is my brother."


	2. Chapter 2

Once Molly had managed to pry the boy-who-was-supposed-to-be-Sherlock's fingers away from her pajama bottoms and put on her dressing gown over her frankly hideous pink nightshirt, she sat down in front of the decidedly creepy elder Holmes, who was perched on her IKEA couch and glaring at it like it personally offended him by existing.

The moment she sat down, the dark haired boy immediately squished himself next to her, attempting to burrow into her side and muttering something like "Mycrwoft simple-toon." Molly automatically pulled him onto her lap, wrapping her arms around him. There was a momentary flare of anger when she felt the coarse grey shirt he was wearing. The material of his equally dismal shorts was rough and she could tell that it was put on him just to serve the purpose of clothing, not comfort.

"Well, he seems to be quite taken with you, Ms. Hooper. I would have taken him to Doctor Watson-" Molly felt the boy's grip on her tighten- "But regrettably John has already left for Africa. Haunted by memories, John is."

"You are avoiding the main question," Molly said, trying not to show how much she was panicking, "If this is Sherlock, I don't see how it could be Sherlock, can you really change someone into a child? No, that's not possible; of course it's not possible, I'm dreaming aren't I? I knew I shouldn't have drunk that wine…"

"Ms. Hooper, please, breathe. Now, I'm not at liberty to tell you everything that goes on in our labs, but for now, know that several bio-weapons have been created that can reduce a subject's mental and physical state by a few years. Unfortunately my ever curious brother, even in hiding, decided to go poking his nose around in one of my top-secret labs. And my employees, deeming him a threat, doused him in a quantitive supply of the prototype drug."

"So you," Molly said, pinching the bridge of her nose, trying to hold back the headache forming after Mycroft's word vomit, " Accidentally turned your younger brother into a three-year old?"

"It was an experiment!" Mycroft shouted defensively, causing both Molly and three-year old Sherlock to jump, "And he wasn't meant to be the one being doused! Those idiot lab-rats-" Here the British government paused and took a deep breath. Once he transitioned back into the ice-man façade, he continued, "Rest assured the guilty parties have been suitably punished. Now, Sherlock's intellectual prowess has enabled him to keep some of his mental faculties, but for all intents and purposes, he is now a child. The drug should wear off eventually, but I cannot be certain when. Sherlock could either grow slowly or instantaneously. Or he may not grow at all."

Molly squeaked, "What? No, he can't just stay three years old! There must be-"

Mycroft eyed her curiously, "My employees are, as we speak, working on a counter-drug. It might take a while, but we are fairly sure we can create a counter drug. All I ask of you, Ms. Hooper, is to take care of my brother. I cannot, there are attempts on my life nearly everyday. Also, Sherlock here likes to kick my shins once in a while in a fit of pique..." Sherlock giggled into Molly's chest, "-Now, you are a somewhat ordinary young woman. You can easily pass him off as your nephew. I'll pay you of course"

"I don't need payment. I'll look after Sherlock. I don't need any incentive."

"Then take it for Sherlock's expenses. The money will be deposited into your bank account by morning. I must be going now," Mycroft stood up and crossed to the door, picking up his umbrella from the stand, "If there are any inconveniences, just type 'Problem' on your blog, my PA will help you then. Goodnight Ms. Hooper and….little brother."

"I'm not little!" Sherlock spouted indignantly. Molly awkwardly patted him on the head, trying to keep him from running after Mycroft. Softly thumping him on the back as she knew calmed children down, she cooed, "It's alright, it's alright, you are still brilliant, Sherlock."

Sherlock's body soon relaxed and he burrowed closer to her. She tucked his head under her chin, feeling how bony and thin his body was. She looked over at Mycroft, who was throwing her an odd look.

"You know Ms. Hooper, I take that back. You are not at all ordinary. Then again, you wouldn't have gotten my brother's trust if you were utterly boring."

And with that, the British government swept from the flat.


End file.
